


The Last Thing You Saw

by twdsunshine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 00:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twdsunshine/pseuds/twdsunshine
Summary: When a supply run goes wrong, the reader slowly slips away with Daryl Dixon by her side.





	The Last Thing You Saw

The pain was like nothing else you’d ever experienced.  Fire scorched through your veins, singeing every nerve ending as it burnt your body from the inside out.  You were trembling, unable to still your shaking limbs no matter how much you wanted to, needed to: the tremors pulled at the wound on your torso, turning the agony into something that defied description.  When you risked a glance downward, there was only blood and you swallowed hard against the bile that rose in your throat as you fought for another breath… and another… and another.  You weren’t ready yet.  You didn’t want to go.

A large hand was cradling your head, supporting your neck and cushioning your skull against the dusty floor of the warehouse.  Daryl.  There were only the two of you there.  It was supposed to be an easy run, a sure thing, back in time for dinner.  You should have known.  These days there was no such thing as certainty.  

Except, in that moment, you were certain that you were going to die.

The pain was only overwhelmed by the fear that took a hold of you then.  It twisted in your gut, tying your intestines in knots, before clenching around your heart, making the failing organ toil for every feeble beat.  This was it.  Death.  After all of the hardship, the hunger and the endless hours spent wandering the roads, searching for a haven, a home, you’d finally met your end inside these bleak concrete walls.

A choked sob broke into the locked cage of terror that had forged around your brain, and you forced your eyes to open again, blinking blearily up at the man hovering over you.  You didn’t think you’d ever seen the fearless archer cry before.

His hair hung around his face in dark waves, matted with the gore that had sprayed from the bodies of the walkers he’d destroyed as he fought to reach you.  It was straggly, longer than it had been when you’d met, and, somewhere in the back of your mind, a soft voice reminded you that you’d been meaning to offer to help him cut it.  It wouldn’t happen now.  It would grow longer, wild and unkempt, and he’d let it, because what was the point of vanity when the world as you knew it had ended?

His skin held the rich colour of a dusky tan, built up over the long months spent in the Georgia sun, and darkened by the dirt that had ingrained itself into every crevice.  He always smelled like the earth, like the forest after a fresh rain and cut grass and the sweet sap from the trees, and his scent calmed you as you inhaled deeply, choking at the effort it took to fill your lungs to the brim, letting the ripples of peace it created shimmer through you and replace the pain and horror with a pervading sense of numbness, until there was only him.

His face was lined, the creases between his eyes deep furrows as he struggled to contain the tears that streaked his cheeks, clinging to the scruff that tickled over his jaw, converging on his chin in a whiskery beard, peppered with grey.  In his grief, his teeth had clamped down on his bottom lip, gnawing on it until he drew blood, crimson droplets glistening on the tip of his tongue when it snaked out to lick them away.

His other hand was on you now, his touch gentle despite the callouses that had formed on his fingertips as he trailed them over your arm, just a ghost of a caress, as though he was scared that any more pressure might hurt you.  Instead, his cool skin was a tonic, soothing the fever that ravaged your frame, and you wanted to beg him to rest his palm on your forehead, drag his swollen knuckles over your chest, anything to give you that sweet relief but, when you opened your mouth to speak, you realised that your throat was too dry to make a single sound.

The end was coming now.  Your limbs felt heavy, your joints stiff, and your energy had drained away so that you couldn’t move them even if you wanted to.  Your senses were fading, Daryl’s soft rasping breaths diminishing until all you could hear was the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears.  His scent had drifted away on the breeze and the bitter nausea that had coated your mouth disappeared.  Even your vision was dimming, blurring at the edges, so that the archer’s face was the only thing you could see.

His gaze locked on yours, and you drew in another faltering breath as you lost yourself in his eyes: crystal blue depths that belied the man’s hard exterior, betraying the effort he made to hide the suffering in his history and the strength it took to wake up to face each new day.  You’d seen those eyes crinkle with laughter and narrow with distrust, but now they swam with more as yet unspent tears, and you thought you might never have seen a more beautiful sight.  Dark lashes gave way to thin cobwebbing lines formed by years of extreme emotions.  You could swim in the pools of those eyes forever and, as your heart gave a final, stuttering beat, you imagined yourself leaping in, arms outstretched, back arched in a graceful dolphin dive.  You broke the surface, revelling in the blissful chill of the water as you breathed it in, drowning in it, sinking slowly deeper.  But you didn’t panic.  You welcomed the sensation, the freedom from your torment, and, as the world around you went black, you finally let go.


End file.
